


Disinterest

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, SO PERFECT, i love these two, theyre just, ugh im awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4197978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The casual observer wouldn’t think the two of you were interested in one another in the slightest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disinterest

**Author's Note:**

> i really like the idea of rose and dave being so lost in their own minds and so determined to keep up their images that it hardly looks like they care for one another at all, but in these gentle nudges and small moments of everyday intimacy you can see how much they love each other. it's quiet and subtle and hesitant because they're afraid and they play confident, but they're in love. and they both, in their own secret ways, think it's totally definitely the best thing ever.

The casual observer wouldn’t think the two of you were interested in one another in the slightest.

He doesn’t hold your hand in public, or even alone really; when excitedly dragging you somewhere, it’s a light tug on your shirt, it’s waiting a few steps ahead for you to catch up, it’s aloof and disconnected, almost like he couldn’t care less if you followed. His hand doesn’t find the curve of your spine, the small of your back, doesn’t caress the edge of your cheekbone or the slight of your lips, not even when you speak face to face, close enough to wrinkle your nose at the sour of his breath. He has spent far too long hiding his affection under sarcasm and sunglasses for it to be healed by something trivial as true love’s kiss.

But as he falls asleep he presses soft kisses to the back of your neck, too tired to remember that you weren’t ever supposed to know you are his ambrosia, and when you indulge him in a rap off, his arm can be found slung over your shoulder like it’s always belonged there, head adjusted so yours falls into the recess of his sloping neck.

Of course, the casual observer doesn’t see the strain on his psyche or the way his lips trace your jawline in the dark. When he waits they see impatience, not anxiety, when he speaks they see boredom, not care, even when he leans in on you they see exhaustion, not reliance.

Sometimes, you think they’re right. You hope you shouldn’t. 

Then again, it isn’t like you help with the image either; your love for him is as evident as latent fingerprints to the unobservant eye. That is, not very.

You take him to lunch but don’t speak, you sit and read while he texts. You split the bill, you’re out the door before he’s done. You take him to parties but make out with women, and when he flirts with the waitress you simply scoff and continue writing. Your fingers don’t slide across the hollows of his collarbones as if they’re sacred, your nails don’t leave imprints on the rare occasion find yourself physically enamored with his neck; he can’t know he’s holy to you. You treat him like yesterday’s paper, a phone number you don’t want, a dull blade not worth sharpening. You have spent far too long playing at aloof and enigmatic to pull away the curtain for something as trivial as true love’s kiss.

But you smile shyly when you know his eyes are meeting yours secretly behind his shades, suddenly all blushes and giggles in the face of this everyday intimacy, and when he betas your novellas, your head tucked under his neck, you let your guard down. In those moments, you know he knows his is your holy spirit, your virgin Mary, the god of your monotheistic religion, and you don’t care.

Of course, the casual observer doesn’t see the insecurity in your control or the way you hold him like he’s your anchor to the universe. When you walk away they see indifference, not shyness, when you tease him they see cruelty, not endearment, even when you kiss him they see dishonesty, not devotion.

You know that sometimes, he thinks they are right, You hope he knows he shouldn't.

In the middle of the night, when you think he is asleep, you curl up to him, tucking yourself into the curves of his body. He presses sleepy lips to the top of your head and mumbles something about the homoerotic subtext in Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff not being shit compared to the homoerotic subtext of "your mom". You laugh and allow yourself to run your fingers against his acne pocked skin; it is late after all. Smiling into his freckles, you do not care what the casual observer may think; you would not trade his sleep deprived mumbles of "love you Rosie" for anything in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> also they totally tell john and jade like WAY too much about their love lives and jade loves it and john's super embarrassed 24/7 and begs them to stop but he loves it too


End file.
